


Flexible Working

by gemothy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: (no I'm not), Cross-posted on Dreamwidth, Desk Sex, I can never resist a punny title I'm sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 00:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: A brief encounter in the Oblong Office. Originally written forthis prompt.





	Flexible Working

Vetinari had come to the conclusion that being this close to the Commander of the Watch had its benefits. As a policeman, Vimes was always able to pick up on subtle clues that His Lordship was not a happy man, and would find a way for them both to steal away to some secret place for a while. Vetinari was more than happy to let it happen; once they got to wherever they were going, he could allow himself to be pressed into a chair, or a mattress, or against a convenient wall, and to, shall we say, forget about the pressures of political life.

He had not expected that this afternoon’s waspish little comments would rile Vimes up to the point of not being able to wait at all, nor that they would result in him being crowded in against his own desk, his robes discarded in a jumbled heap with half of Vimes’s uniform. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to press himself against the thigh that Vimes had pushed between his own- even more so, once Vimes had sunk his teeth into his neck.

With a considerable effort, he managed to create the tiniest bit of distance between them. “This is my _office_ , Sam; we can’t do this here.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna, aren’t we?” Vimes received no answer, and slid his knee a little higher. “Aren’t we?”

Vetinari leaned back, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “You would have to present a _very_ good argument for that.”

“Really,” said Vimes. He took a step back, opening the top drawer of the desk and feeling around inside. There was a click, the quiet clatter of a false panel being dislodged, and Vimes brought out a small bottle. “Funny,” he said. “I thought you said you didn’t want this sort of thing going on in here?”

“I like to be prepared for every eventuality, Commander,” said Vetinari, his voice still miraculously calm.

Vimes snorted. “Giving yourself away a bit with that choice of title, aren’t you?” He tapped the bottle against his hand, clearly taking his time making a decision while Vetinari squirmed. “Turn around.”

“You do realise,” said the Patrician as he turned to face the desk, “that I’m doing this entirely voluntarily?”

“I should bloody well hope so,” said Vimes.

“You know what I mean,” said Vetinari as Vimes stepped up behind him. He braced himself for whatever was coming next, and waited.

...And waited.

“Really Sam, I don’t have all day- what exactly is taking so long?”

There was a brief rustling, the tiny, crinkling twang of rubber, and a slight breeze as a small envelope floated past, landing gently on the desk. Vetinari risked a glance at it; there, stamped on the back, was the unmistakable seal of a certain discreet little seamstress-approved shop.

“... _Oh_ ,” he breathed.

“Ready?” said Vimes, and Vetinari nodded.

“I did tell you I was prepared for anything.”

And he was- and yet, as Vimes shoved him forwards, he still let out a little huff of surprise. Vimes was quicker than he looked, and in seconds Vetinari found himself sprawled over his desk, trousers down, arse up, using up every bit of his famous self-control to stop himself pushing backwards against Vimes’s slow slide in. Gods, this was good- undignified, perhaps, but even he could admit that a lack of grace in this wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Just think though,” said Vimes cheerily, “Someone could walk in on us any minute.”

Vetinari felt his cheeks flush; it should have been shame, or at least anger, but despite the fact that everything about this was a terrible idea, the hot, twisting _thing_ sliding down his spine and coiling low in his stomach wasn’t quite the same as either of those emotions. He wanted this- he wanted it so badly that he’d happily let half the city come to watch him get thoroughly fucked by the Commander of the Watch, just as long as the man kept going.

As Vimes’s grip on one hip shifted forwards, Vetinari tensed, his hands skidding across the papers on the desk and sending them flying. He bit down on his own lip, hoping the taste of blood would prove enough of a distraction- he was _not_ going to be the first to finish here, and he smiled in satisfaction as he felt Vimes’s rhythm begin to falter. _Now_ he could let go, and he did, releasing himself over Vimes’s hand- and, to the dismay of one small part of himself that was still relatively sensible, all over some rather important paperwork.

As the ringing in his ears faded away, Vetinari could hear Vimes murmuring softly in his ear, one arm around his waist to keep him upright where his legs had buckled underneath him. He twisted in Vimes’s arms, bringing him even closer for a series of lazy kisses; they still had a few minutes before anyone would come knocking on the door, and he was determined to make the most of it.


End file.
